


Snow Angel

by ermengarde



Series: Letters in the Frost [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:03:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ermengarde/pseuds/ermengarde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s been out on a hunt and had to leave the boys to cope with the harsh winter weather and they do cope, being Winchesters, but poor Sammy gets so <em>cold</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Angel

It was dark and hot, and Sammy felt the weight of the snow on top of him; keeping his arms tight next to his body, his legs pinned. _Why’s Dean left me?_ He struggled, trying to dig his way out of the drift. _I was right, igloos are warm_.

oOo

Dean was awakened by whimpering, unhappy noises coming from his little brother. He looked over at the other bed, piled high with blankets and the throw from the couch. They’d spent a long time last night looking for messages on the window from the Snow Angel and Sammy had practically fallen asleep with his head pressed against the cold glass before Dean had dragged him through to their bedroom on the dining chair.

Dean had put Sammy to bed more or less fully dressed, piling all the blankets from the linen cupboard and Dad’s bed on his bed, determined that his brother wouldn’t get cold again. He could see his breath in the cold air of their bedroom and hoped Sammy would calm back down so he could go bank up the stove and get the kitchen warm before Sammy woke up.

They had just one more day before Dad was due home.

Dean grabbed the clothes he’d been wearing yesterday and got dressed under the blankets. He wasn’t as clean as Dad would like, but given it was freezing and he wasn’t going to see anyone but Sammy until tomorrow, it wasn’t exactly important.

Sammy was still whining quietly in his sleep; a sad little noise that worried Dean- especially since ignoring his brother had almost ended badly. Dean threw off his blankets and stood up, shivering in the cold air of the bedroom, before leaning over the other bed to see if there was anything obvious causing Sammy distress. He pulled down the blankets a little, exposing more than just the top of Sammy’s head, and the movement and cold caused Sammy to screw up his face and burrow in a little more.

“You lef’ me, Dean. S’not cold in a igloo, s’cold outside.” Sammy muttered, not even half awake.

“Shhh, it’s okay Sammy, I’m just going to go get the kitchen warmed up before breakfast; you stay here.” Dean tucked the blankets in a cocoon round Sammy’s head, leaving just his nose and eyes exposed to the room.

“Do I have to have fish?” Sammy had opened one eye and was squirming round to look at Dean.

Dean laughed, slightly confused. “Um, no. Cheerios, okay? With hot milk ‘cause it’s freezing. Stay here. I’ll come get you when it’s ready.”

“Oh good. Fish s’nasty. Unless it’s fishsticks, I like fishsticks…”

“I know you do, Sammy. Go back to sleep and stay warm.”

“Oh, okay.” Sammy pulled back into his mountain of blankets like a peculiar turtle.

oOo

Dean had come to get him. Dean always came. Sammy wriggle-snuggled in his warm cocoon and wondered how Eskimos managed to fish when all the water was frozen and why the snow didn’t just melt when it was so warm.

oOo

There was the barest trace of warmth in the kitchen, coming from the banked stove, and Dean got a bucket of logs from the corner to start coaxing some life back into the fire. It didn’t take long for the flames to catch hold and Dean warmed his hands for a few moments; enjoying the satisfaction of a well managed fire as much as the heat. It didn’t take long for him to assemble their breakfast and start warming the milk; the room was still cool, but it would get warmer and if Sammy was wearing enough clothes he’d be fine. Dean went back through to their icy bedroom to wake up Sammy.

oOo

They spent most of the day in the kitchen, and Dean made Sammy sit down as much as he could. The gummi bears they had at lunch made that a little hard, but Dean was pretty sure that Sammy’s feet were okay and that making a den under the kitchen table - the best place in the whole house to shoot poltergeists - hadn’t hurt them any more. The stove made the room warm, almost hot, but the rest of the house was still freezing and Sammy’s den gave Dean an idea. The thermometer on the porch was registering the lowest it had been all winter and there was ice on the inside of their bedroom window. Dean grabbed all the blankets and pillows from their beds, wrapped them up in the throw from the couch and dragged them through to the kitchen.

“Wanna camp out tonight, Sammy?”

Sammy’s tousled head appeared from behind the sheet wall of his den. “S’real cold out there, Dean.” His eyebrows knit and he bit at his rough lower lip as he apparently tried to figure out why his big brother thought sleeping outside in the middle of winter was a good idea. “I thought I wasn’t allowed outside on my feet yet?”

“You’re not, I was thinking more of sleeping in your den…?”

“S’not a _den_ , s’an anti-poltergeist fort and I invented it for Daddy.”

Dean had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the earnest expression on Sammy’s face. “Uuuh, well, maybe we should see if it’s good for overnight operations? I’ve brought some things to make it soft for sleeping in.”

“Oh, yes. Daddy has to hunt at night a lot and he’s always so tired. He’s tired after just fixing things for people and that’s not even his proper job. He should have a bed for night hunts.” Sammy crawled out of his fort and started pulling blankets out from Dean’s makeshift pack.

oOo

Dean banked the fire in the stove one last time and to check that it would keep burning through the night. Sammy had made a nest of their blankets under the table and the throw from the couch now insulated the sheet walls of the fort. They’d be a little cramped, but no more than in the car, and at least they’d be warm. When he turned back around from the stove, he saw Sammy pour a thick ring of salt round the fort, holding the heavy bag in both hands and walking awkwardly around the table. Dean had re-done the salt lines at the doors and windows only an hour or so before, so the house was safe, but… he looked closer and saw that Sammy had penciled something that looked a little like the protective sigils that Pastor Jim had taught them on the legs of the fort.

“You finished making that circle, soldier?” Dean asked, just like Dad always did.

“Yes, De...Sir. S’all whole n’everything. _Look_!”

Dean made a show of inspecting the circle, and _noticing_ the little sigils Sammy had drawn. “Nice work, Sammy, but these aren’t quite right – I’ll get the book and you can copy them, okay?”

Sammy nodded, seriously, and started rubbing out the sigils. Dean got the thin exercise book that Pastor Jim had given them and turned it to the right page.

“Okay, see, there’s another bit that comes off to the left here…”

oOo

The dark sky was just beginning to stain pink as John drove up the rutted snow-covered road to the house. He cursed; arms shuddering and fingers numb from holding tight to the wheel as he tried to keep the vehicle from heading into a ditch or the fence. It had been a long, hard trip; the poltergeist had been a mean son of a bitch, and John was fairly sure that he had a couple of bruises that hadn’t even come up yet. The snow had been heavy here, much heavier than he’d thought. A sickening weight settled in his stomach as he thought of little Sammy making his way home up this road, in the dark.

He brought the truck to a stop as close to the house as he could and snagged the two bags of groceries that were sitting on the back seat. The boys would be low on supplies by now and John was looking forward to cooking up sausage, biscuits and gravy for them.

The lock on the front door was stiff with the cold, and John cursed as he juggled the bags over to one hip and tried to turn the key quietly. _Cheap crappy shack…_ Almost holding his breath, he swung the door open and moved silently into the house. His fingers itched as he looked over at the boys’ bedroom door. He wanted nothing more than to go and gather his sons up and smell their little-boy scent, hold them and be held in return, have Dean tell him that it was all okay, that the hunt had been a good one because another bad guy was gone; but it was too early and the house was cold. He moved towards the kitchen, intent on getting the stove warm and breakfast started.

He opened the kitchen door to a wave of warmth and the slightly bitter smell of overheated cocoa. The table was covered in the ugly-ass throw from the couch, a heavy brocaded fabric that reminded him of the chair in his parents’ living room, and there were blankets sticking out between the legs at one end. A thick circle of salt enclosed the makeshift playhouse and two empty mugs that looked like they’d be murder to clean.

“Dad?” Dean crawled warily to the edge of the blankets, bursting into a brilliantly blinding grin when he saw John.

John put the groceries down on the throw-covered table and crouched down to his eldest. “Hey, kiddo, you having a camp out?”

“It got so cold, and Sammy got frozen feet on the way home from school, and it was warm in here, an…”

John swallowed down hard. “You did good Dean, keeping warm’s important. How did Sammy get frozen feet? How did you fix them?” He could just make out the tangle of blanket and legs and too-small pajamas where Sammy still slept, but his tiny feet were covered in brightly colored cartoon-character socks and John badly wanted to pull his baby boy out from under the kitchen table and check him, see that everything was still intact.

“It was so cold Dad, coming up from the bus, and he only had his rubber boots on, and he got so cold – we couldn’t go fast. His feet were all white and sore and felt funny, so I checked the book and it said mild frostbite so I did what it said. Warmed them real slow and I’ve tried to stop him from walking on them. They’ve been all properly pink since.” Dean looked so earnest. Round eyed and a little out of breath from trying to get all the information out.

John stood and put his hand out to help Dean up, putting his arms around his son and pulling him in for a hug.

“Okay, let’s get this sleeping den of yours squared away and I’ll get breakfast started.” John crouched down again and tickled the bottom of one of Sammy’s feet, catching it easily when Sammy kicked at the unwanted touch.

“Hey, Sammy, time to get up.”

A bundle of rumpled energy launched itself at him, rocking John back on his heels.

“DADDY! You’re home! We were testing n’anti-poltergeist fort for you and it’s good n’warm , n’I hurt my feet but Dean fixed me n’..”

John just held on to the squirming bundle in his arms, laughing gently at the onslaught of information.

“Let me see your feet, Sammy.” He lifted his son onto the table to sit, and rolled off each of his socks; gently prodding and wiggling each of the little toes.

Sammy flapped his hands at John’s arms, giggling. “Daddy! That tickles!”

Dean pulled the bedding out from beneath the table and started pulling it back towards the bedroom.

“Looks like you’re all in once piece. Now, breakfast?”

oOo

The three Winchester men sat round the table in their plain and basic kitchen, pouring gravy over plates full of sausage and biscuits, with Sammy talking at breakneck speed about the last week and Dean and John exchanging the occasional dry look. Outside, in the cold, fresh patterns of frost were painted on their windows, swirls and leaves and messages that only the intended recipient could decipher.


End file.
